


When the flowers bloom

by i_gaze_at_scully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Episode: s09e16 William, Sad with a Happy Ending, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_gaze_at_scully/pseuds/i_gaze_at_scully





	When the flowers bloom

_Dianthus barbatus_ , the woman at the farmer’s market tells her. Strange to prattle off the Latin name of a flower to a customer, but Scully appreciates it, honestly. She smiles as she breathes in their scent, remembers prom dresses and boutineers, Valentine’s day when Ahab was on land. “I’ll take a bouquet,” Scully says. The woman is older, in her sixties at least, with long gray hair cascading down her back in a simple braid. She has a knowing twinkle in her eye and flits around the farm stand with some sort of saged exuberance Scully can hardly fathom. She gathers the bunch, ties hemp around the stems, and holds up a finger when Scully reaches into her purse. Turning for a moment, she produces a small packet, pressing it delicately into Scully’s outstretched hand.

“Plant these before the last frost” she whispers, “and your Sweet Williams will bloom come spring.” Scully nods dimly, her focus shifting entirely to the seeds in her palm. When she looks back up, the woman is helping another customer, the same bounce in her step as before. Scully pockets the seeds and goes home to her child.

–

“Sweet William,” she croons to the bassinet as her baby gurgles and spittles. The flowers light up the room. They provide solace when she sits at the computer to check her email and finds nothing. Mulder’s been gone too long now. William cries in his room, and she goes.

–

Scully bounces William on her hip when his flowers bloom in the garden. He reaches for them and nearly falls over, laughing and babbling happily. Positively cherubic, the both of them. Scully trims the flowers and brings them to the same vase as the originals from the farmer’s market. “Sweet William,” she sings when she changes their water, or sniffs them, or rearranges them. “Sweet William.” They make the most lovely centerpiece.

–

The day after… when he’s gone, she finds herself curled up in her tiny apartment garden with a fistful of dirt. She squeezes it, moves it around in her palm, lets it fall to the earth near her temple. She lets her hair tangle in the brush, begs the ground to swallow her whole. She faintly remembers the vision of a sad, sad psychic, peacefully submitting to tulips and time. To death and peace. If only. If only.

“Sweet…” she whispers, and closes her eyes against the pain. The sobs wrack her body. Face down in the dirt, her tears provide for the flowers like she could not provide for her son.  _William_ , she finishes, and releases the rest of the dirt.

–

Years after… after he is gone, she plants them still. Behind an unremarkable house, light years away from the apartment where she lived with her son. She watches them bloom with a cup of coffee from the porch each spring. They are a short lived breed. She watches them bloom, and she watches them die. Her vase collects dust. She sips her coffee and comes back inside when Mulder calls. Her Sweet Williams give way to all the other sweetness in their garden; the peaches and sunflowers, the dahlias and ivy. But when they go each year, she cries. All that’s good must go, she knows. Oh she knows.

–

It’s been almost a decade since. She wonders that spring about her son’s prom night, years away though it is. She wonders if some unknown feeling will compel him to buy a boutineer with his flowers in it. She shakes the thought and sips her coffee on the porch, stares at the sink while she rinses the mug. Groceries await. Mulder has to eat, Mulder hasn’t… he doesn’t… he has to eat. One week at most her Sweet Williams have, one week and she can go on pretending.

But she can’t, because she comes home that afternoon to a single bouquet on the kitchen table. A handful of fresh cut Sweet Williams, sitting on the table like it was the most natural thing in all the world. Like they belonged there. She drops the groceries and brings her hand to her mouth, chokes out a sob. Mulder materializes in an instant to her side somehow, wrapping her up in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into her hair. “It’s time. You can’t keep watching them in the yard.” He rocks her in his arms and she looks away, buries her face into his chest.

“Mulder–”

But he pulls back, takes her face between his hands. “Scully,” he says simply. “They’re beautiful.” Her breathing becomes ragged and he holds her steady. He sinks down to the floor with her when her legs give out and strokes her hair as she sobs. Her tears stain her cheeks and his fingertips and nothing more. In the morning her Sweet Williams are there. In their home they last over a month. A month of furtive glances and one, just one time where she rearranges them herself, runs a finger over the delicate petals. One day there is a slight droop in the stems, and the next day they disappear from the vase altogether. She never sees them die.

–

She is told that her son died. She goes into shock right there on the dock, her heart in danger of giving out between the weight of new life and old. They go home to Mulder’s home,  _their_  home, and the next morning, Scully goes out to a farmer’s market. She wanders the aisles in a fugue, knowing why she’s there without admitting it to herself. A young woman, no more than 25, asks how she can be of assistance, and Scully smiles sadly at her. “Do you have any Sweet Williams?” She asks, choking back tears. The girl shakes her head sadly, holds up a finger before Scully’s eyes water.

“I do have seeds, though, if you’d like,” she says producing a small packet. “It’s pretty late in the season, so we’re giving them away. Would you like a pack?” Scully swallows and nods.

She plants the seeds in soft earth, the last frost having passed. She waits for blooms while life stirs inside her, while life moves on around her. She lets the flowers in the vase install themselves, makes it a point to take a whiff every now and then. She catches Mulder tending the gardening with fierce determination. They may not bloom, she knows. Not after last frost has passed, not so late in… she folds her hand over her stomach and sips her coffee.

–

One day Scully’s head erupts in pain, and Mulder rushes to her side. “Scully. Are you okay? Is it the baby?” Her eyes snap open, wide and unseeing, as the vision pours in.

“William,” she gasps. “It’s William. He’s alive.” She grips Mulder’s arm and he brings his hand to her head, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Oh, Scully…” he whispers, but she cannot hear. She breaks free from him and rushes to the door. “Scully!” She hears him call, but all she can see are the undersides of tall, tall sunflowers and feel the whip of leaves against her skin. As she trudges down the porch stairs, she searches frantically for the sunflower patch, for … is that the oak tree off by the shed? The vision is so blurry, pulsing in and out like a heartbeat, but he’s  _here_ , he’s–

He’s lying in the garden, face down in the dirt, hair tangled in the brush and leaves grasping at his jeans. For a moment, she is frozen. She drops to her knees, reaches out a shaky hand. “William,” she whispers. “Sweet William.”

Their son comes to consciousness as Mulder barrels into sight, his voice screaming her name finally registering in Scully’s ears. When their eyes meet, Scully breaks into warm tears.

Across the yard, the Sweet Williams bloom.


End file.
